Epicure of Pale Starlight

Mortal, primitive minds once gazed at the starlight and marveled at their alien beauty and vast numbers finding a kind of eternal solace. Awakened now to the timepiece terms of the finate scale of an instance of cosmic infinity in which an hour ago our sun did not exist; in another hour, perhaps, everything shall have ceased to be.

A cool, comfortable time of the calendar, the subtle vanguard of leaves slowly cascaded to the ground in sundry, invisible breaths of wind. Darting dragonflies merely drifted and glided. Thick swarms of mosquitos diminished in ever-widening circles in the dying sunlight. Unlike their soothing, rhythmic song of August, the crickets chirped at a frantic pace in anticipation of an early frost forecast through innate knowledge of their impending fatality.

Apart from the feral avarice of grotesque generations of strange, encompassing city people, eldritch rural houses must often dream; the secret to the heredity of their survival, along with the witchery of blood curses, is often that which subsists there unknown within. Although the sweet redolence of evening dew may pleasure and enchant the senses, the nearby fields and creeks have inspired a similar dread leaving them beyond reproach.

At dusk, the daylight shadows between trunks and boughs of trees were slowly absorbed into the absolute darkness of a cloudy night. Entering into the cooling first level of the majestic structure, the seeker ascended the narrow corridor of a stairway which still retained the heat of the day. Drawn to violet rays of light beneath the northern doorway of an upper room, and having discovered there a lumniferous, anthropomorphic anthesis, he entered into a ceremony of initiation into the lineages of the Elder gods.

A manly reasoner had become immortal witness, an epicure of pale starlight, having become one with their arcane lexicon and knowledge that they have ruled the earth in darkness since the beginning of history and should the signs of calamity be seen, while those around them perish, will know exactly where to survive.





©2019 by L.P. Van Ness. All rights reserved.


[genre: satanic fiction]